


pour one out

by notabene (trailingviolets)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Choking, Creampie, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Name-Calling, Pillow Fucking, Psychosis, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Drugs, Rey is a little unhinged, Rough Sex, Vomiting, major gross tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingviolets/pseuds/notabene
Summary: Lonely and grieving, Rey turns to her estranged older brother for comfort. Or anything really.





	pour one out

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle with yourself and read only if you're up to it.

The problem with nowhere is that it’s boring. Rural men are fat and complacent, their wives embittered and catty. It’s rare that anyone feels like celebrating, especially during low harvest. So people drink to escape.

The hours after a drunk driving death are eerie, like drifting between alternate realities. Sometimes Rey remembers but mostly it’s a shock, to keep hearing from the cops that her mother’s gone. She lost to the bottle years ago, detaching by and by in small doses, so no one’s really surprised.

It still feels sudden, like running aground of childhood.

For a long time Rey sits perfectly still. Alone on Rose’s couch, adrift in a warzone of late night cigarettes and condolence drinks, she waits out the terror of being turned upside down. 

\---

After, there’s too much going on to think. Rey bikes from Rose’s house to the trailer and back, legs pumping hard, not stopping for cars. She’s angry about being asked to go home and change, especially without a ride.

Yet it's true, her party dress isn’t appropriate. Not with a slit in the side; not for her mother’s wake.

So Rey pries the thing off, realizing only after that it’s ruined, gross. The white armpits are stained yellow, the crotch slimy, smelling of disease. As she leaves, Rey throws the noxious mess away.

It feels like an end of some kind, a soft goodbye. 

\---

At the reception, Rey rakes Rose’s leaves for hours. She needed to feel useful, to escape from the indoors, so they told her to pretty up the yard.

She works until her heels sink in the mud and the joints of her fingers chafe. By the time Kylo’s ready to go, she’s barely managing an upright stand, asleep on her feet and covered in diphtheria. 

At school, Rey pretends to be fixed by pity grades and time spent alone in quiet corners. Everyone’s eager to move on, so she times her sadness to conveniently ebb away. Eventually the act turns into a makeshift normal.

It’s not like they were close. Kylo was always her mother’s favorite, and she's lucky to have an echo of that family in him.

\---

Rey’s still terrified of defaulting into foster care, despite Kylo’s heartfelt promises to change.

Straight from the wake, he rips dozens of bottles of Southern Comfort from stashes around the trailer, making good on his shaky, newly-minted sobriety. Rey watches, helpless, feeling stupid for not guessing the truth. That the adults enabled each other, circumventing her entirely.

He pours so much booze down the sink that it clogs the drain, bringing up chunks of moldy pasta and meatloaf. Kylo retches and gags himself into tears, grossed out and hysterical. 

When he finally pukes, it’s a delayed reaction to everything, not just the sink or the detox.

Hacking on the floor, with strings of drool falling from his lips, he looks far younger than thirty. It’s scary to see him powerless because he’s always been her fixer. Older and stronger, lacking in experience but naturally smart.

Rey crawls forward to him, through a tide of vomit that soaks the front of her leggings and spills over the linoleum. There’s a feral thrill to it, like playing in the mud. 

Frantically he tries to scrub the mess away, using damp paper towels, tea cloths, the hem of her shirt and his. Anything to contain the filth, to keep Rey from touching more of it.

“I’m so sorry,” Kylo says. “I haven’t been doing good as a brother, and it's just us now.” 

“It’s okay,” she says back. “You’re making an effort, at least.” 

Later, the empty bottles haunt Rey. Overwhelmed by regret, she drags the recycling under the porch. It doesn’t matter if it stinks through the floorboards. At least it’s out of sight.

\---

Kylo has a talent for manipulating the sympathy of strangers, wearing his secondhand funeral suit and extolling nonexistent virtues. The following Monday he’s hired to stock shelves at the A&P, when before it was impossible to find work. 

After a month or two of steady employment, Rey’s caseworker pays them a final visit, evaporating after an hour of loud interrogation.

Rey’s eighteen soon anyway. 

“See,” he says, closing the door. “Still sober. Haven’t lost it yet.” 

Growing up, Kylo’s reputation was for silence, two-dimensional sadness and anger. Only with Rey was he different, and only to a point. Often he was so stoic, so defensive, not even she could guess what was underneath.

“I didn’t say you’d be the one to go crazy,” she says. “It's my turn.”

\---

Rey gives Kylo credit for the effort, but it’s not easy. She’s stubborn, and he only creates more distance. In trying to move past Snoke over the years, it feels like he left her behind, putting up walls instead of trying to heal. 

Partly it's because Snoke ignored Rey, so focused was he on Kylo. As far as her mother’s boyfriends went, he was the worst. Rey watched every time, culpable in the dark, as Kylo took his punishment for existing. 

He still has a habit of fidgeting, a Pavlovian response to loud noises and sharp objects, to other’s well-meaning questions. Rey does her best to rid the trailer of reminders, throwing almost everything old away. 

\---

Their mom was always asking for favors regarding Kylo, mostly of Rey. Mornings after Snoke, she was the only person allowed to get close, to assess the damage. Rey misses more than anything the rituals they performed alone.

All she could offer were small comforts, like feeding Kylo toast, helping him to drink chalky swallows of juice laced with their mother’s pills. If the bruises were too obvious, they’d stay back from school.

Being a woman is like living in a house someone else bought. Rey wakes every day wishing to go home, to be young. So her brother will hug her again, and restore her sanity.

\---

While he’s gone on third shift, the ghosts come out of the trailer’s fake woodwork. It starts out innocent, seeking familiarity in his bedroom, trying to escape the psychosis of loss.

Once your mom dies, you’re automatically closer to doing something desperate and terrible.

Rey practically keens into the smell of his filthy, sweaty hair, his greasy unwashed nakedness. She squirms into the dip of the mattress where he eats junk food by the fistful, where he comes. 

She’s wet now, alight in the darkness for a person who isn’t there, who can’t see her and won’t fuck her. The longing is what sends Rey reeling, heart hammering and eyes shut. She pushes her underwear off, smearing his pillow all over. She rides it until she comes, numb and teary.

Rey leaves it disheveled at the foot of the bed like a dare, or a cry for help.

\---

Kylo’s back in time for breakfast. He always buys McDonalds, like he doesn’t know any better, like they’re in _Big Daddy_ and she needs to be taken care of. Yet it’s the only reason Rey wakes up. 

They sit at the kitchen table devouring greasy, half-cold fries, each exhausted from the night. Kylo’s thinned since he quit drinking, put on muscle in his shoulders and thighs. After a shift he’s pale, unshowered, with bloodshot eyes and slow reactions, but he’s attractive. 

At least subjectively, to Rey.

“You look sick,” he says abruptly. Kylo’s done eating first, but he always stays. Sometimes to smoke, usually just to stare.

“I know.” Rey looks down at the mottled table. There aren’t any clean plates, so they’ve been eating off paper towels. “Everything’s a mess.”

“Are you lonely here?” That he’s concerned feels good, sharp and burning. The dark, liquid look of worry he gives always makes her crack. 

“Sometimes.” Rey starts to sniffle. “The trailer’s so creepy at night, it's driving me crazy.” 

“You’re safe,” he says. There’s an immediacy to it, a desire to make Rey believe. “As long as I'm here.”

\---

Mom helped her play hookie from school plenty, but Kylo's usually strict. 

She’s already late this time, so he says _our secret_ and lets her curl against his side. He naps in fits and starts all day, never truly sleeping. 

The blackout curtains in his bedroom don’t help. It’s pure insomnia, or the childhood fear of being caught unaware.

“I miss you,” she says airily. “I miss this.” 

\---

She wakes to Kylo combing her hair back slow, strand by strand. She stays turned, half-dreaming, not wanting it to end. His touch lulls less and less, turning desperate. By the time he settles on the mattress, she’s wide awake.

“Hey,” she says. “Is something wrong?” His fingers go rough against her scalp, and Rey whimpers.

“Tell me what you did to the pillow.” He waits, eyes unreadable. “Now.”

“I fucked it,” she says at last. “It smelled like you and I was lonely.”

Then he’s pulling her body backwards, grinding her ass down to spoon against him. Rey’s tailbone presses tight against the shape of his cock, separated only by the scummy comforter. At the sight of her he hisses, captivated.

“You’ve been sleeping here, too.” It’s not a question, so Rey says nothing. “You know how I can tell?” 

Kylo runs a hand over the cool side of the pillow, searching. He slides a finger inside the hole gouged there, drawing it quickly out. 

“I can smell you, too,” he says thickly. “Here, try.” Rey bends, stooping her neck to his cupped hand. 

She’s embarrassed by the reek of unwashed cunt and ass, her sticky come that’s transferred all over. Kylo watches her flush and blink with shame, his lips parted, eager.

“Now look what's underneath.” 

The belly of the pillow’s ripped apart by its seams, barely held together. Rey gasps in disgust, in sick, joyful shock. He’s fucked the thing in half. 

Without thinking, she reaches into the guts of it, rummaging around for a patch that’s fresh. It’s still warm. 

Rey brings her hand forward, staring possessed at how much there is. She’s never seen real come before. “Can I taste it?” she asks. 

He doesn’t answer, so she tries it anyway. It’s different, sweeter and lighter than Rey expected, more acidic. She’s pawing for other spots inside, when Kylo puts a hand on her wrist, his fingers harsh.

“Don’t,” he says, broken. “I promised to be good. You’re a kid.” 

It’s such a stupid obstacle, being seventeen, she aches with the misery of it. He has been good, the best she’s known. Only he doesn’t seem to understand, this is what she needs, too.

“Please?” Rey asks. “Our secret?”

“You want me to split you up inside?” He shakes her hard, knocking Rey’s teeth together. “Your little cunt is smaller than the fucking pillow. It’ll kill you.”

“Do it,” she says. “Try.” He shakes his head.

“You’re tiny.” He sits back on the bed, folds her over him. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

“Then give me something,” she says, desperate. The disappointment is almost too much. 

“Here,” he says. He hands her the destroyed pillow. “I want to watch you come. That’s the fantasy, right?” Rey nods, no longer so shy.

She takes the pillow, plugs the hole with his cock. It sits on top of his hips, the perfect seat. When she climbs on he whimpers, hands fisting in the sheets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she says. “Or yourself.” 

Rey’s just as good at pretending he’s not there as she is at daydreaming. She grinds and rises, humping her own fingers deep inside, hitting her clit with the heel of her palm.

Purposely she exaggerates how good it feels with moans and miserable noises of want. Soon she’s not acting, because his reactions are enough to turn Rey on. Kylo looks hungry with yearning, lost and finished.

When she comes it gushes over his cock, jumping painfully against the fabric. Without friction it soon wilts, foreskin sticky and stinking of her body. 

Not as punishment but to goad him, Rey gets up and wordlessly walks away.

\---

It escalates unbearably, until they’re always wary of each other and Kylo walks around under a dark cloud, cock visibly hard against his work pants, hair an unwashed mess. She takes to irritating him as a hobby, bringing him to tears with off-limits insults and immature fuckery. 

Eventually, he gets angry back.

\---

She’s huffing, feet scrabbling on the floor, trying to gain purchase or slip away. Maybe she’s really crossed a line, because now his rage is palpable, real.

“What the fuck did you say?” Rey elbows his stomach, hard. It doesn’t budge, but his hands go slack. He hisses then readjusts, never breaking his hold on her.

“I said you’re pathetic.” Her nose is pressed to the linoleum under the table, next to crumbs of bread strewn from dinner, bottle caps and desiccated bits of foil. “A 30 year old virgin.” 

“Am I?” He claws at her leggings, pulls them tight under her bare ass. “Say it again.”

“Loser, unfuckable.” She’s pissed now, trying to get a rise. “Pillow fucker, pervert, cuck.” He starts dealing slaps at every insult, unsparing, sharp and painful. Filth spews like snakes from her mouth in epic bursts of frustration, as her ass goes red with heat. 

“You’re afraid that cunt bites, you’re so naïve.” In a single cathartic blow that drags Rey completely under, Kylo bites the back of her neck. Her voice gives out, breathless, still pinned in his teeth. 

“You know I could fuck you senseless?” he says, detaching. Kylo holds her down with just an arm, her own twisted and immobile behind her. He’s kneading her sore ass with the other, groping, rubbing the pain in. “You’re mine. I don’t need permission.” 

A shiver thrills down her spine, and Rey jerks towards his cock. Kylo smiles, runs a greedy hand across her slit.

“You don’t want to be,” he says, awed. “But you’re wet.” 

She tries unconvincingly to thrash away, to wipe the slick of her thighs onto his. As she moves his cock connects, and Rey starts to shake, still too stubborn to beg.

“Roll over,” he says. “Show me your tits.” In a daze she does, pulling her top down to expose her nipples, taut and cold. Rey’s still tangled up in fabric, her legs useless.

“Look at you,” he says, eyes soft. “Fucking perfect.” 

It’s a vile, cruel thing, but Rey spits in his face, overwriting the moment. She doesn’t want this to be gentle for Kylo, not after he made her wait.

“Have you seen real tits?” she asks. “Or just in porn?”

Her words must strike a nerve, because a look crosses Kylo’s face that’s pure, violent rage. He backhands her, drags her nipples so hard Rey’s forced to arch her back, to cry out loud.

“Don’t push me,” he tells her, deadly. Unbidden, Rey’s hips flare up, fighting against the fabric to open her legs, to escape. “Take off your pants.”

She turns away, unwilling to help. Frustrated, he rips them in half by the seams, grabs her hips and wrenches her naked into his lap. 

The head of his cock pokes out over her stomach, swollen and discolored. Rey feels a momentary pity, knowing he’s in such agony.

That she's the reason Kylo’s glassy-eyed and hunched, panting for cunt like a dying man.

“Get on it,” he says. “Fuck yourself.” He was right, his cock’s too big. With the slightest push of the tip inside her, Rey’s dripping warm hymen blood. 

The sight visibly moves Kylo. In ecstasy he crushes their lips together, forcing her like a doll to accept his tongue. All Rey can concentrate on is the burning pain, where there’s never been anyone before. 

“I waited for you,” she says hoarsely. “I was so sad, I wanted you to strangle me while you did it.” Kylo groans at that, eyes rolling back. 

He grips her lower lip in his teeth and pulls, keeping them suspended there, not thrusting, not breathing. As hard as she tries to stay up, Rey slips further and further down onto his cock, helped along by her wetness. Each inch is like being eviscerated, twice as hard as before. 

“Fuck,” he says at last, letting go of her. Rey looks down, seeing that their hips are flush, hers still shaking. Her ass throbs against his thighs, the skin hot and tender.

It’ll bruise black by tomorrow. 

Moving fast, Kylo grabs her waist, fucking her on his cock. Fisting a hand in her hair, he starts to say the saddest shit to make her writhe with guilt.

_When we were kids, you’d get me high on Xanax, Rey, remember...you watched him hit me...you never told him to stop..._

Gradually he finds a rhythm, hips firm and snapping into her body. She starts to howl, aching unbearably inside but also getting off on the feeling, the hammer of his body against her clit.

When she comes, it's with a fluttering that’s different than being empty. She chases the sensation, clenching her cunt muscles, daring him to get off on the unwanted pleasure, the confusion and fear he's caused.

Kylo does, letting out a long moan that ends in a final, hurtful thrust. When he pulls out, his come tickles in her so unbearably that Rey tries to shake herself clean, squirming. Her cunt runs riven onto the floor, clotted with blood. 

Trembling and half-hard, Kylo parts her thighs, sticks his face between them and laps the slick out. It feels so new, so good, that Rey lets him mount her again, and again. 

The last time, she feels his fingers wrap around her throat. Knees rubbed raw against the floor, exhausted and overstimulated, Rey has no fight left. Only instead of strangling her he squeezes, ripping an orgasm out of Rey that threatens to obliterate reality.

\---

“I’m better now,” she says, after. The tears fall soft, crossing her face to drip onto the mattress. “You fixed me.”

\---


End file.
